


Everybody Wants To Rule The World

by indiefic



Category: The Bone Season - Samantha Shannon
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU with spoilers for The Bone Season and The Mime Order.  The Rephaim openly control Scion.  Voyants are London's elite.  But even with her privileged upbringing, Paige has never been one to follow the rules and she isn't content with the status quo.  This does not bode well for the quick approach of her permanent binding to her keeper, Arcturus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trinkets for Giants

** Dublin, Ireland - February 2046 **

 

Paige had heard the name Scion, whispered when she was awake, shouted when they thought she was asleep.  Her father and Finn argued, sometimes Aunt Sandra joined in on Finn’s side.  Paige knew that Scion meant England, the thing her mother had run from, to avoid being given to one of the shining giants, like a trinket, her father said.  Scion meant danger, especially for little girls like Paige.  And now Scion was coming to Ireland.

 

Finn pulled her along.  “Come on, Pip,” he said, “you need to see this.”  His happy smile was gone, his face looked hard and serious, so much like Paige’s father’s face.

 

“Finn,” Kay, Finn’s girlfriend, yelled, “she shouldn’t be here.”

 

“This is about her, Kay,” Finn said, his voice hard.  “She should see it.  She should know why we’re fighting.”

 

There was a crowd, some of Finn’s friends from Trinity College, lots of other people.  All chanting, holding signs.  Paige knew they wanted Scion out of Ireland.  She wanted Scion out of Ireland.  But she was just a little girl.  And Scion did bad things to little girls.  Especially little girls like Paige.

 

The protesters yelled and yelled.  Some of them threw rocks.  And then the soldiers came.

 

Paige had never seen anything like it.  The soldiers were dressed in red and black, heavily armored, wearing helmets and visors that hid their faces.  They all looked alike.  A wave of blank faces that would not stop.  The protesters yelled louder, they threw more rocks, but the soldiers just kept coming.

 

“Finn, we have to go!” Kay yelled, pulling on his arm.

 

Finn turned around, scooping Paige into his arms.  He tried to push through the crowd, but there were too many people.  Paige started to cry, clinging to him.

 

“S’okay, Pip,” he said, his voice breathy.  “S’okay.  I’ll get you out of here.”

 

He held her close, shielding her with his body.  But there was nowhere to run.  The soldiers herded the crowds down a narrow streets.  They had batons and cattle prods.  Some of the protesters were bleeding.  Everyone was screaming.

 

“Shit, shit!” Finn yelled, trying to find a way out, but there were too many people.  The only way was forward, toward waiting trucks.

 

Paige was loaded into the giant truck with Finn and Kay and at least thirty other people.  The sides of the truck were draped with heavy canvas and they could see nothing outside.  They were forced to sit down so they didn’t fall over as the truck rumbled over the uneven cobblestones.

 

There was an old man sitting opposite them, his head bleeding.  He looked at Finn shaking his head.  “What were thinking?” he asked.  “Bringing her here?  You’ve just given her to them.”

 

Finn shook his head, but he didn’t reply.  He held Paige tighter.

 

It seemed like hours before they stopped.  The back of the truck opened and they were led out single file into a large warehouse.  Cattle pens had been set up inside in a big grid, forcing the people single file through a maze.

 

Paige still cried, but Finn no longer tried to console her.  His face was tight and ashen.

 

It took hours.  The sun had set, before they reached the end of the maze.  Paige was separated from Finn and Kay, taken to a small white room with no windows.  She was scared, but out of tears.  She was hungry and tired and she wanted her father more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

 

She sat in the chair, her feet swinging, shivering.

 

It was a long time before the door opened and when it did, all Paige could do was stare.  Scion.  A shining giant.  She was the tallest person Paige had ever seen in her life.  She had to duck under the doorframe to avoid hitting her head.  Her long, ash brown hair was coarse and had been pulled back in a loose braid that hung down her back.  Her skin was the color of dark honey and it shone under the fluorescent lights like polished metal.

 

She crossed the room and knelt down in front of where Paige sat, still looming over the child, even in a crouch.  Paige could see that her eyes burned like blue flame beneath her hooded lids.  She wore black and red body armor, like the Scion soldiers.

 

She reached out and grabbed Paige’s chin, turning her head left and right.  Her fingers were so hot they felt like they were burning Paige’s skin.  She finally released Paige’s chin and stood, nodding.  

 

“This one,” the shining giant said, speaking to a woman in a lab coat who had entered the room without Paige noticing.

 

The shining giant left and the woman in the lab coat asked Paige many questions.  Her name, where she lived.  She asked about Paige’s parents.  She took detailed information about Paige’s height and weight.  She took her blood and filled a neat little row of vials, all marked with Paige’s name and age.  Lastly, the woman removed Paige’s jumper and pressed a machine against the back of Paige’s shoulder.  It stung, like a thousand little bees.  When the woman pulled the machine away, Paige looked at her shoulder and traced the mark _XX-59-40_.

 

* * *

 

 

When they finally got home, Paige’s father held her so tight.  His cheeks were wet and shiny with tears.  Paige wasn’t allowed to see Finn or Aunt Sandra or Kay again.  It was less than a month later when her father was conscripted by SciSORS.  They were moving to England.  To London.  To Scion.

  
END CHAPTER


	2. Chapter 2

**London, 2059**

 

“ _Dreamer_.”

 

Paige looked at Nick and smiled innocently.  He shook his head and rolled his eyes, heading for the door of the shop. Paige abandoned her flirtation with the amaurotic behind the counter and followed him outside into the cool night air.

 

“How’d you manage to get the night off anyway?” she asked, looping her arm through his.  It was late winter and the air was still biting cold.  She turned up the collar of her black wool peacoat against the wind.

 

“I worked a double day before yesterday,” he said.  “It’s nice to know I was missed.”

 

“Of course you were missed,” Paige assured him truthfully.  “It’s just that I was busy.”

 

“I don’t like it, Paige,” he said, the warning clear in his voice.  “Jax is pushing you too hard.”

 

“He’s just trying to assess my limits,” she said, doing a rather poor imitation of Jaxon’s voice.

 

Nick sighed.  “I still don’t know why the professor thinks your abilities are so damn important that they’re worth risking your life.”

 

“Yes you do,” Paige said quietly.  

 

Nick bowed his head, pulling her closer.  Of course he knew why it was important to Jaxon.  They all knew why it was important to Jaxon.  “Know thy self.  Know thy enemy.” Nick quoted.

 

They walked in silence for several minutes before ducking into a little Turkish restaurant.  There were several people waiting to be seated, but as they entered, the man behind the counter bowed and touched three fingers to his forehead in acknowledgement of, and deference to, Nick and Paige’s order of voyancy.  They were quickly shown to a table.

 

Nick shrugged out of his coat and removed his scarf, looking across the table at Paige with a tight smile.  “I saw Arcturus yesterday,” he said evenly.

 

The waitron stopped at the table, giving them both steaming cups of saloop.  Paige thanked her and then looked down at the mug as she said bitterly, “Really?  That’s great.”

 

Nick frowned.  “Did you know he was back at the Archon?”

 

Paige shook her head, pursing her lips together tightly.  “No, I didn’t have any idea.  Why would I?”

 

Nick shook his head, frowning.  “Sotnos, you’re bound to him for fuck’s sake.  You might try taking a modicum of interest.”

 

She glared at Nick.  “He doesn’t take any interest in me,” she said.  “And why don’t you try being sold off to a shining giant and tell me how much you like it.”

 

Nick frowned.  “I didn’t say you needed to _like_ it,” he said.  “I said you should take an _interest_.  He’s your keeper.  By all rights, he owns your life, Paige.  At the very least you could try not to antagonize him.”  He sighed, staring at Paige, his features softening.  “It could be worse.  You’ve never seen Kraz with any of his pledges.”

 

Paige’s lip curled in disgust.  “I have no interest in making friends with some shiny alien pervert who decided to make me his pledge when I was eight.  Thanks, but no thanks.  And I’m sure as hell not going to be grateful about it.”

 

Shaking his head, Nick said, “I think you should at least talk to Arcturus.”

 

“Oh?” Paige snapped.  “When was the last time you tried talking to him?  It’s like talking to a brick wall.  He refuses to converse with me.  I think he’s afraid he’ll catch something.”

 

“At the risk of sounding like Jaxon,” Nick said under his breath, “in the next year you’re going to have to do a hell of a lot more than converse with him.  You would be doing yourself a favor by being able to interact with him without open hostilities.”  He sat back in his chair, looking at her.  “You haven’t seen them, Paige.  Those girls.  Kraz’s in particular.  He wears them down, chews them up and there isn’t a damn thing anybody can do to help them except physically patch them up and send them back for more.”

 

“You think I don’t remember,” she said, giving him a hard look.  “Should we talk about the first time I met you?  The first time I met Arcturus?  After he set a poltergeist on me.”

 

“ _Paige_ \- “

 

“No, fuck you!” she spat in a harsh whisper.  “He hurt me.  Intentionally.  When I was _a child_.”

 

Nick frowned, looking shamed.  “To enhance your voyancy, Paige.  It’s hardly a fringe practice.  Especially for someone who displayed as much potential as you.”

 

“Does that help you sleep at night?” she asked, knowing it was a low blow.

 

He looked wounded.  “Would you have rather I left you there, bleeding, let you spend the night alone?”

 

She shook her head, looking away.  “No,” she said softly.  “I wouldn’t have prefered that.”  Since that day, Nick had been her friend and she wouldn’t trade any amount of trauma for his presence in her life.  Many days, it was all that kept her sane.

 

However, Nick wasn’t the only one who watched over her that fateful night.  While Nick was on rounds, Arcturus, Warden of the Mesarthim, had stopped by her hospital room.

 

She’d been so young and scared, suffering from profound spirit shock.  He looked so much like Situla, the shining giant who found her in Ireland, that for a moment, it brought back all the initial terror.  But as he stood there, watching, it became apparent that the physical similarities to his cousin were the end of their kinship.  For a Rephaite, he was quiet, unassuming.  His aura didn’t overwhelm Paige.  His energy was soothing rather than alarming and his eyes had been a crisp apple green, not colored with another voyant’s aura.  

 

He simply sat there, on the edge of her bed, for nearly an hour while Nick was away.  With him close by, his aura wrapping around her, the spirit shock lessened.  He never spoke and neither did she.  But even as a child, she had understood.  She understood that he had been the one to architect the situation, that this was some sort of penance on his part, an apology - or as close as he could get to one.

 

She watched as he took a small vial of liquid and dabbed some on her hand.  It felt warm, like liquid sunshine.  The cuts didn’t heal, but the wounds underneath, the wounds to her spirit dissolved away into nothing.  Carefully, he reached out to her and pressed a drop gently to her philtrum.  It was like inhaling the aether.  It shored up the cracks in her dreamscape, healed the damage to her mind.  She sat there, looking up at him.  

 

And then she bit him on the hand as hard as she could.  

 

He still had the scar.

 

Sadly, it set the tone for the rest of their relationship.

 

Nick had arrived just in time to see her sink her teeth into Arcturus’s shiny skin.  She’d bitten him so hard she tasted ectoplasm, which had further hastened the maturation of her clairvoyancy.

 

She’d been scared, afterward.  Scared that Scion would take her away, or send her father somewhere else.  What would they do with a little girl who dared to bite a shining giant?  Nothing good, she was sure.  She hadn’t been entirely wrong.

 

The next year, on March 7th, the claim arrived, accompanied by four of Scion’s Vigiles.  A shiny lacquered box containing a beautifully filigreed pendant, sublimed to ward off poltergeists.  Even at nine, she didn’t miss the irony of that gift.

 

And in return for her accepting the necklace, Arcturus, Warden of the Mesarthim, owned her.  He was her keeper, and she his pledge.

 

There was no way for her father to refuse the claim, not without running, taking them both into hiding, risking death - or worse.  This was the fate her mother had escaped, only to find death in Ireland, giving birth to Paige.

 

After the claim, Paige’s life changed.  They’d always been well off, thanks to her father’s job at SciSORS, but with Paige bound to one of the most powerful Rephaim, they were catapulted into the upper echelon of SciLo society.  They had the best of everything.  The best flat, the best clothes, the best school.

 

Paige attended Whitehall, the elite school for voyants.  Most of her classmates had been English, but it wasn’t uncommon for there to be students from Greece, Sweden, Bulgaria, any of the Scion countries.  There were even a few from America and New Zealand.  Many of the students were from old voyant families, with deep roots to the Rephaim.  Several, like Paige, were anomalies.  Incredibly gifted and rare voyants from bloodlines previously unknown to Scion.  

 

All voyants in Scion-controlled countries paid tribute to the Rephaim.  It was the cost of their luxurious lives.  They gave of themselves and their gifts for the glory of the Rephaim.  At least that was the official party line.  In operational terms, it meant that the Rephaim fed on voyants.  All voyants tithed a portion of their gifts to the Rephaim every week.  Except for pledges bound to keepers.

 

It sounded like a perk, but it wasn’t.  At least not as far as Paige was concerned.  She had no interest in allowing the Rephaim to feed on her aura, but being a pledge wasn’t any better.  It was just trading one hell for another.  And it didn’t even ensure that she wouldn’t be fed on, just that she didn’t have to tithe.

 

What it meant to be a pledged to a Rephaite varied greatly depending on which Rephaite a pledge was bound to.  Some families, the Sargas in particular, were notorious for their abuse of their pledges.  Over the centuries that they had ruled Scion, Thuban, Kraz and even Gomeisa Sargas had sired children with their pledges, giving the Sargas yet another avenue from which to draw power.  Nobody seemed overly concerned that it cost the pledge her life.  It was merely the cost of bringing such a child into the world, a child that wasn’t supposed to exist, a child whose very existence added to the Sargas power.  The cost was a life for a life.  The mother’s life for a child’s.  And the Sargas were more than happy to allow their boundlings to pay the price.

 

Paige had never heard of children born to other Rephaite families, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen.  The Mesarthim were powerful and tightly allied with the Sargas.   

 

At Whitehall about half of the students were bound to various Rephaite bloodlines.  Some families, the Sarin, the Chertan, the Saulocin regularly took pledges, largely for military purposes.  They trained their pledges in the art of spirit combat and their pledges became Scion’s elite guard, loyal to the Sargas.

 

But even among the voyant upper crust at Whitehall, Paige still stood out.  It seemed to be her fate, her inability to blend in.  Despite her rare gift, Paige wasn’t intended for a life of spirit combat.  Jaxon had done extensive research and confirmed that there was no record of any Mesarthim taking on a pledge in Scion’s entire history.  Paige was the first, in the entire bloodline.  It wasn’t enough that she was Irish and a seventh level voyant, Paige was also singled out for having a keeper so reclusive that no one, not even Jaxon, had any idea what it meant.

 

Luckily, Paige wasn’t entirely alone.  Liss was an anomaly like Paige.  Even though she was a lesser order voyant than Paige, she was very talented.  And like Paige, she had been bound to a very powerful Rephaite, Gomeisa Sargas.  Rumor had it that if you had to be bound to one of the Sargas, Gomeisa was your best option.  Paige wasn’t sure she believed that.

 

Unfortunately for Liss, Gomeisa was considerably more hands-on than Arcturus.  Gomeisa often appeared at Whitehall, conferring with Liss’s professors about what she should be taught, what she should be allowed to do.  And most importantly, what she should not be allowed to do.  

 

Arcturus never imposed his will.  He was a ghost.  Paige often was able to entirely forget that she was bound to him.  She figured he either didn’t know what to do with her, didn’t care, or both.  Probably both.  Paige often hoped he would just forget about her, especially considering he didn’t seem to like her at all.

 

To this day, she had no idea what possessed Arcturus to make a claim for her.  In the ten years she had belonged to him, he had spoken a handful of words to her.  Mostly, he didn’t speak to her at all.  He spoke to her father about her, in front of her, like she wasn’t there.  He showed up, only when absolutely necessary, and left as quickly as possible.  He paid the bills and he stayed away and that seemed to work out fine for both of them.

 

But Nick was right.  She would be twenty soon.  And Arcturus would claim her permanently.  Or not.  She truly had no idea if he could back out of a claim once it was accepted.  Surely he could.  He was in the Sargas inner circle.  He could probably do anything he wanted.  If only she could make him want to break things off.

 

“What are you thinking about over there?” Nick asked.

 

“How to get out of my claim,” Paige said.

 

“Oh, sotnos, don’t start,” Nick warned.  “If Arcturus drops you, some other Rephaite will snatch you up.  You’re too rare and too high profile to be left alone.  Trust me, it could be worse.”

 

“It could be worse is not a convincing argument,” Paige said sourly.  “Of course it could be worse.  It doesn’t mean I have to settle for what I have.”

 

He arched an eyebrow.  “Now you sound like Jax.”

  
END CHAPTER


	3. Chapter 3

“Ms. Mahoney?”

 

Paige turned around and looked at the young man.  Damien Lynch.  He was preparing to matriculate from Whitehall and would soon be headed to the University of Scion, London.  His acceptance into USL was a formality, she was certain.  His life, his career had all been set the minute he was born into the Lynch family, one of the oldest, wealthiest and most powerful voyant lineages in England.  It didn’t matter that he was a thug and an idiot.  “Yes, Mr. Lynch?” she asked.

 

He smiled a smile that no doubt set many hearts aflutter across Whitehall.  Paige, however, was immune.  She didn’t date voyants and even if she did, she wouldn’t date a Lynch.  Not to mention that in her role as office aid, fraternizing with students was strictly forbidden.  Even if she had been a student herself only a couple of years earlier.

 

He moved closer to her.  “I was just wondering - “

 

“Wondering what, Mr. Lynch?” Jaxon demanded.  His tone was icier than a cold spot.

 

Lynch’s demeanor immediately changed.  He backed up several steps from Paige.  “Uh, nothing Professor Hall, nothing.  I’ve just remembered I’m late for tutoring.”

 

“Best hurry,” Jaxon said with one of his shark smiles.  “Your grades need all the help they can get.”

 

Lynch scurried out of the classroom and down the hallway.  Jaxon frowned at Paige.  “My lovely, I really don’t understand why you allow them to gawk and pant at you like a pack of lovesick puppies.  They are beneath you.”

 

She gave him a hard look.  “You wouldn’t understand.”  Though she didn’t necessarily share Jax’s assessment of the situation.  Lynch didn’t strike her as lovesick.  He struck her as predatory.  She made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

 

“True enough,” Jaxon said, taking a seat behind his desk.  He glanced at a stack of papers and then back to Paige.  “I need you to speak with Ognena Maria,” he said, pinning her with his gaze.  “Tonight.”

 

“Jax, I have plans,” Paige responded.  He was always doing this, wreaking havoc on her personal life with his incessant errands and tasks.  Her job at Whitehall as an office aid allowed her to stay close to Jaxon and the resistance.  It also gave her some level of plausible deniability with her father as to why she wasn’t attending university herself.  But she did tire of the constant fetching and carrying.

 

“It is a revolution, honeybee,” he said darkly.  “I don’t particularly give a damn if it interferes with your plans.  Concerns of the flesh are not my concern.”

 

“And yet, concerns of the flesh are ultimately at the root of our entire cause,” Paige replied quietly.

 

“Bite thy tongue,” he snapped.  “The shining giants copulating with humans may well have gifted the human race with clairvoyancy, but there is little need for it to continue at this point.  I have no use for an ancient ancestor who doesn’t have the decency to kick off this mortal coil.”

 

Paige sort of had to agree with him on that one.  Well, if she subscribed to Jaxon’s theory of clairvoyancy.  He had some good points - it was Jaxon after all.  If there was anything he could do, it was sell a load of bullshit.  His theory on the history of clairvoyancy was thought provoking and incendiary.  The theory most likely would never be able to be attributed to him.  Not if he wanted to keep his life.  She suspect that was a bitter pill for him to swallow.

 

His doctoral thesis, _On The Merits of Unnaturalness_ , had literally caused riots in London and rocked the voyant community to the core.  He’d gone into hiding in Sweden for several months after it was published, though Paige figured that was just a ploy to garner more attention.  Jaxon Hall never shied away from a fight, especially not one rooted in words and ideology.  

 

The divisive response from the London elite was exactly what was to be expected.  The “higher orders” loved him, seeing his theories of their superiority as validation of their entitlement.  The “lower orders”, however,  despised him.  And with good reason.  That thesis had been the downfall of several previously powerful voyant families.   _On the Merits_ won Jaxon both bitter enemies and tenure at Whitehall.  The latter giving him access to the malleable young minds of London’s most powerful voyant families.  

 

“Go now,” he said dismissively, with a wave of his bony hand.  “And take Eliza with you.  You know how important this is.”

 

* * *

The tube station was packed with amaurotics trying to get back to their sections before curfew.  Paige and Eliza were jostled by several rotties scurrying to the last open seat in the carriage.  Paige felt bad for them.  It wasn’t easy being an amaurotic in London.  Their movements were highly regulated and the entire population was heavily policed.  A select few, like Paige’s father, were able to rise above their station on the merits of their contributions to Scion.  But it was rare.

 

“Hey, uh, Paige.  How are you?”

 

Paige glanced up at the young man.  He was tall for a rottie, half a head taller than she was herself.  He had skin the color of bittersweet chocolate and light hazel eyes.  ‘Uh, yeah,” she said, struggling to remember his name.  “Um - “

 

“Mickey,” he said.  “From Harlie’s Pub a week ago.”

 

“Oh yeah,” she said, smiling.  He was so pretty.  She definitely remembered his face - and body - if not his name.

 

The carriage slowed as they approached the next station.  “This is me,” he said, motioning to the doors.  “Look, I had a good time.  Call me.”

 

She nodded, smiling, having no intention of calling him.  She’d thrown his number away as soon as she left his ramshackle little flat.  She watched him leave the carriage, relieved when the doors closed and the carriage started toward the next stop.

 

“Why do you insist on picking them up?” Eliza asked, shaking her head so that her golden ringlets bounced around her face.

 

“Because unlike Jaxon, I like sex,” Paige said, looking down at Eliza.

 

Eliza frowned, sighing.  “Yeah, but with rotties?  Paige.  What’s the point?”

 

“It’s easy,” Paige said, staring up at the nixie displays as the carriage sped toward their destination.

 

“Exactly,” Eliza said darkly.  “It’s easy.  Because you don’t have to risk anything.  There’s no chance of you forming any kind of relationship with them.”

 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

 

“ _Paige!_ ”

 

* * *

Ognena Maria ran a very successful nightclub, _Maria’_ s, in the heart of London’s most upscale shopping district.  It was phenomenally successful and bestowed Ognena Maria with considerable wealth and influence despite the fact that she wasn’t a member of a storied English bloodline, unlike Jaxon.  But like Jaxon, she had  more ambition than most voyants, who were content to rest on their laurels and enjoy the privilege awarded them by the mere fact of breathing.

 

Paige and Eliza were greeted warmly and immediately shown to Ognena Maria’s private office.  It was a gloriously luxurious space, decorated in the height of Victorian fashion, as was the norm in upper crust England.  Maria matched her surroundings.  She wasn’t so much a beauty as a commanding presence.  Her bright auburn hair was swept into a rather dashing pompadour and her attire had a decidedly masculine flair, yet it was exquisitely designed and tailored. She offered Paige and Eliza a glass of real wine.

 

“I can’t.  I have to tithe tomorrow,” Eliza said, frowning at the proffered glass.

 

Maria made a distasteful expression and held a glass out to Paige, clasped gently in her gloved hands.

 

“Can’t,” Paige said.  “Whitehall screens regularly.”  It was true.  Whitehall did screen.  But in truth, Paige didn't want to undertake these negotiations with a fuzzy head.

 

Maria frowned, relaxing back into her richly upholstered chair.  “What’s the point in being bonded to one of the shining giants if you can’t even enjoy a glass of Bordeaux?” she asked.

 

Paige just shrugged.  Truthfully, she agreed with Maria in principle.

 

“So tell me,” Maria said, taking a sip of wine.  “What does Jaxon Hall want now?”

 

“Poppies,” Paige said flatly.  There was no way to dress it up.  She really wished Jaxon would have made this visit himself.  Merely asking was an insult of sorts.

 

Maria frowned, taking another drink.  She sat there for a moment, her features unreadable.  “He knows how dangerous that request is.”

 

“Yes,” Paige replied.  “He does.  And he says he will compensate you at three times your usual rate.”

 

Maria arched an eyebrow.  “While generous, I’m not sure that’s adequate compensation if I’m dead.  Do you know what he’s planning to do with them?”

 

Paige frowned, unsure of how much to say.  She liked and respected Ognena Maria.  She was as much the heart of the resistance as Jaxon, though where Jaxon excelled at rhetoric, Maria excelled at action.  Finally, sighing, Paige said, “I think he intends to take up gardening.”

 

Maria’s eyes went wide and she set down her glass, shifting in her chair as she crossed her legs.  She was silent for a long time.  “I’m afraid three times my normal rate will not suffice.  Not for this.  I’m sorry, but you will have to give Jaxon my regards.”

 

* * *

Paige puffed out a breath, blowing her hair out of her face as she surveyed the entrance hall at Maria’s.  Jaxon was not going to be happy.  He was going to be livid, which meant that Paige, and probably Nick as well, were going to spend the next week trying to talk him out of retaliating against Maria.  He couldn’t.  There was simply too much to lose.  But Jax’s temper could be positively mercurial.

 

Paige considered wryly that if Jaxon invested more time in cultivating trade relationships and less in absinthe and writing, he wouldn’t be so dependent on other voyants to fulfill these requests.  But Jaxon considered any such suggestion heresy.  He was above dirtying his hands with _business,_ especially when he had a sizable family fortune to keep him comfortable.  

 

“What now?” Eliza asked, glancing at Paige.

 

Paige shrugged.  She needed to find poppies.  The problem was, with Maria’s refusal, that only left one other option for Paige and she wasn’t going to go there.   _Probably_.

 

As Paige was still formulating a reply, Eliza waved brightly to a couple who had just entered Maria’s.

 

“Leon,” Eliza chirped, crossing the entryway and grasping Leon Wax’s hands in her own, accepting a kiss on each cheek from him.  Eliza then turned her attention to Bea Cisse, Leon’s companion, hugging her tightly.

 

Paige knew when she was no longer needed and she waved a quick goodbye to Eliza from across the room.  Eliza hadn’t gone to Whitehall and despite being a voyant, she was not from a privileged background.  She’d been orphaned at a young age and taken in by Bea and Leon.  They weren’t exactly Eliza’s surrogate parents, but there was definitely a close bond between the three of them.  Paige didn’t need to intrude on that.

 

Paige stepped out into the damp evening and frowned at the sky.  Jaxon Hall wanted poppies.  And Paige wanted out of her bond to Arcturus, Warden of the Mesarthim.  Perhaps they could both be negotiated at the same time.  Miracles did occasionally happen.  Or so she’d heard.  Stepping to the curb, she hailed a cab.

 

* * *

Paige stared up at the mansion from the back of the cab and reconsidered.  This could be a very bad idea.  She’d never been to Arcturus’s residence by herself.  In fact, she’d only been here once previously.  It was years ago, and she’d been with her father.  She didn’t even know if Arcturus was home.  Though he probably was, considering Nick just saw him at the Archon yesterday.  As far as Paige knew, this was where Warden lived when he was in London.

 

Paying the driver, she stepped out of the cab and looked at the gates.  The mansion was on a small hill, set back a bit from the street.  Like the rest of the mansions in the neighborhood, the property was enclosed by a stone wall that had to be ten feet high.  The gate was heavy wrought iron, but Paige doubted it was locked.  Security didn’t seem to be high on the list for the Rephaim.  Though, in their defense, who would dare to bother a shining giant in its own lair?

 

Paige really regretted not partaking of Maria’s bordeaux.  It seemed like being drunk would make this more bearable.  Taking a deep breath, she tried the gate.  It was unlocked.  She slipped through and then took the winding steps up to the mansion’s front door.

 

She stood there for a moment, contemplating her sanity.  She was just about to raise her hand to ring the bell when the door opened.  A young man stood there, looking at Paige expectantly.  He was about Paige’s age and ... _beautiful_.  There was really no other description for him.  He was tall and slender with golden hair and blue eyes.  His lips and cheeks were a perfect petal pink.  She could detect the barest hint of an aura around him.

 

Realizing she was staring, Paige shook her head.  “Uh, I need to see Arcturus,” she managed to stutter.

 

The boy raised an eyebrow.

 

She cleared her throat and squared her stance.  “I’m Paige Mahoney,” she said.  “Arcturus is my keeper.”

 

The boy nodded and immediately opened the door, bidding her enter.

 

Without a word, he led her down a hallway.  Paige barely had time to look around as she hurried after the boy.  The house was much as she remembered it, spare, modern.  Very unlike most SciLo residences.

 

They came to a set of double doors which had been pushed open wide to reveal a library, lit by several sconces.  There was a fire burning in the cavernous fireplace and Arcturus sat before it in a high backed chair.  He looked up as they entered and Paige’s breath caught in her throat.  How many years had it been since she last saw her keeper?  She wasn’t sure, but it had been several.

 

The boy stepped to the side, presenting Paige, who stood there fighting for composure when she really just wanted to run for the door.

 

Arcturus set down the book he was reading and nodded to the boy.  “Thank you, Michael, that will be all.”

 

The boy, Michael, nodded and left, leaving Paige alone with her keeper.  She swallowed thickly.

 

Arcturus motioned to the other chair set before the fire.  “Paige,” he said expectantly.

 

She forced one foot in front of the other as she crossed the room.  Delicately, she perched on the edge of her chair, wondering what in the hell had possessed her to come here.  She realized that this was only the second time she had ever been alone with Arcturus.  Immediately, her vision lighted on his right hand, on the perfect half-moon scar her teeth had left between his thumb and index finger.  Hopefully this encounter would go better than their first.

 

“This is quite unexpected,” Arcturus said, watching her closely.  “To what do I owe the honor of a visit from you?”

 

He didn’t sound particularly honored.  He sounded annoyed.  Paige forced herself to meet his gaze, noting that his eyes were a vibrant chartreuse and not colored with stolen aura.  “I need to speak with you,” she said.

 

He watched her, unblinking, for several long moments.  “There are well established channels,” he said dryly, “if you wished to correspond.”

 

 _Fuck._  This is exactly what she’d been trying to explain to Nick.  Arcturus was _such_ an ass.  “I didn’t want to drag my father into this,” Paige snapped.

 

Arcturus leaned back in his chair, threading his fingers together as he watched her.  

 

He certainly wasn’t going to make this easy.  Fine.  Fuck him.  Maybe he wouldn’t even care.  He didn’t seem to be at all excited about their arrangement.  “I want the claim dissolved,” she said.  She reached into her shirt and removed the pendant from around her neck, holding it out to him.

 

His gaze flicked between the pendant and her face, but he did not move.  “No,” he said.

 

She lowered her hand back to her lap and looked at him.  She shook her head, standing.  “Why?” she demanded.  “You obviously don’t want me, you don’t want this arrangement.  Why not break it and be done?”

 

He watched her, his eyes narrowing slightly.  “And upon what are you basing your assumption that I do not desire this arrangement?”

 

She laughed, a harsh, cold sound.  “Uh, let me see,” she said.  “How about the fact that you always look like you’d rather be doing anything other than talking to me?  You, as a matter of fact, don’t talk to me?  Or if you do, it’s because there’s no way for you to get out of it?”

 

He looked at her again and Paige was forced to look away.  He had this way of looking at her as if he was looking _through_ her.  She’d always hated it.

 

“From my perspective,” he said flatly, “I have upheld every tenet of our arrangement.  I presented you with the pendant, which you still wear as proof of the acceptance of my claim.  I have paid for your room, board and education.  I would still be paying for your education, had you chosen to continue.  I provide you with a monthly stipend.  What part of this have you taken as refusal on my part?”

 

She shook her head, looking down at him.  “How about the part where you have absolutely no interest in me?”

 

He placed his hands on the arms of his chair and stood.  Paige immediately backed up, staring up at him.  Somehow she always managed to forget just how incredibly tall he was.

 

“Do I understand correctly?” he asked.  “That because I am not like Gomeisa Sargas and do not attempt to choreograph every aspect of my pledge’s life, that you assume I take no interest in you?”

 

She stared up at him, feeling reckless, angry, helpless.  “Or maybe you don’t care now that I’m no longer a child.”

 

That got him.  She saw his eyes flare, though he did not move.  “So now I am also a pederast?”

 

She shrugged, knowing she was antagonizing him and not caring one bit.  She felt unbalanced by her emotions.  She wanted him unbalanced too.

 

His eye twitched and he took a step closer.  She had to force herself not to cower.  “The Rephaim are timeless,” he said quietly.  “I have existed longer than your entire civilization.  I have been condemned to walk this forsaken side of the veil for nearly two centuries.  Many of my kind have taken pledges.  You are my first.  Do you truly think that after all these years, I saw a wounded child and was suddenly so overcome with physical lust that I made a claim in the heat of a moment?”

 

She blinked up at him, feeling shamed and idiotic.

 

He sighed, turning back to his chair and resuming his seat.  He watched her closely.  “I am not a Sargas.  You will find no insight into my motives by looking at their history.”  He looked meaningfully at the pendant in her hand.  “The claim stands.”

 

She shouted in anger, clutching the pendant tightly in her hand.  She was so tempted to throw it into the fire, but something stopped her.  She glared at him, her chest heaving.

 

He watched her, his face expressionless.

 

Oh fuck it, what else did she have to lose at this point.  “I need a favor from you,” she said, knowing there was pretty much no chance of him agreeing.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“A poppy,” she said baldly, throwing it down like a challenge.  “I know you have some.  I remember seeing them when I came here as a child.”

 

“And what does Jaxon Hall need with a poppy?” he asked.

 

She stared at him, unable to reply.  Her heart pounded in her throat and her mouth was bone dry.  How did Arcturus know about Jaxon?

 

Slowly, Arcturus stood again.  He reached into a small wooden box that sat on the fireplace mantle and removed a pair of heavy leather gloves.  Paige just watched him, rooted to the spot.  She thought, _he’s going to kill me_.  But the idea immediately seemed ridiculous.  He wouldn’t need gloves to hide fingerprints if he decided to kill her.  He was beyond the law.  There would be absolutely no repercussions for him if he decided to murder her here and now.

 

Arcturus did not, as it turned out, strangle Paige.  He crossed the room to a cabinet, nestled between bookcases.  Carefully, he extracted a dried poppy, placing it gingerly inside a velvet pouch.

 

He held the pouch out to Paige, but as she reached for it, he pulled it back.  “I also require a favor,” he said.

 

She eyed him warily.  “Yes?”

 

“You,” he said.  “In my home.  One hour of pleasant conversation every evening.”

 

She gaped at him.  “What?”

 

“Those are my terms,” he said.  “One hour of conversation per evening with my pledge, in exchange for a dried flower.”   He looked at the pouch.  “The mere possession of which would brand us both traitors and end in our executions.”

 

She swallowed thickly.  “For how long?”

 

“Until I make good on my claim and you are permanently moved to my residence,” he said flatly.

 

She really wasn’t going to get out of this claim.  “Fine,” she bit out.

 

“ _Pleasant_ conversation,” he repeated.

 

She glared at him and snatched the pouch out of his hand.  No doubt he could have stopped her had he wished, but he let her take it.  He made no reply as she left the room and headed for the door.

 

END CHAPTER


	4. Chapter 4

“So if it isn’t from Ognena Maria, where did you get it?” Jaxon asked, peering into the velvet pouch.

 

“You’re not the only one with sources, Jax,” Paige replied.  She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to tell him about her agreement with Arcturus, but she didn’t.  Last night seemed incredibly surreal.  She still couldn’t believe she’d actually gone to Arcturus’s residence, that she’d confronted him.  And while it didn’t have the outcome she’d wanted, it hadn’t been a waste of time.  Part of her was hopefully that given enough encounters, she could irritate him sufficiently to get him to break his claim.

 

Jax narrowed his gaze at her, but let it drop, for now.  No doubt he thought he would get the truth out of her eventually.  He was wrong.

 

“Look, Jax,” she said, “Just don’t do anything rash with it, okay?”  She grabbed her stack of papers and headed for the office, ignoring his glare.

 

* * *

 

 

“You did _what_?” Nick hissed, looking wildly around the small coffee house.  No one appeared to be paying any attention to either Paige or Nick.

 

“You heard me,” Paige said, having no wish to repeat herself.

 

“After everything you said the other day about never seeing him, you went to his residence in the middle of the night?”

 

“It was eight thirty, Nick, not the middle of the night,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“And he just gave you the ... _pouch_?” Nick asked, incredulous.  “Why would he do that?”

 

Paige frowned and took a sip of her saloop.  “There was a bit more to it than that,” she admitted.  “We ... talked.”

 

“You talked?” Nick asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Argued,” Paige admitted quietly.

 

Nick winced.  “About what?”

 

“About dissolving the claim,” Paige said.  She held up a hand to cut off Nick’s lecture.  “It was useless,” she said.  “He won’t release me.”

 

To Nick’s credit, he didn’t say _I told you so_.  “I still don’t see how that segues into his gift to you.”

 

“We sort of made a bargain,” Paige admitted.  “In return for the pouch, I am obligated to spend an hour each evening with him in what he calls pleasant conversation.”

 

Nick looked a bit green.  “Do I want to know why he qualified it with pleasant?”

 

Paige stared at her mug of saloop.  “At one point, he said I accused him of being a pederast.”

 

Nick laid his forehead on the table with a groan.  Paige hoped he wasn’t having a migraine.  “Did you?” he asked, his voice muffled.

 

“Maybe.”

 

Nick looked up at her, shaking his head in disbelief.  “Did you hear a word I said about antagonizing him, Paige?” he demanded.  “He owns you.  He can do anything he wants and there’s not a damn thing I can do to protect you.”

 

Looking at Nick, Paige felt bad.  But not bad enough to hold her tongue when it came to Arcturus.  As much as she didn’t want to cause Nick undue pain, she wasn’t his responsibility.  It wasn’t his job to protect her, especially not from Arcturus.  She needed to set a tone for her dealings with her keeper.  She refused to pretend to be something she wasn’t.  

 

* * *

Arcturus was sitting before the fire again, sipping a goblet of red wine as Michael showed her into the library.  Without waiting for Arcturus to offer, Paige took a seat in the empty chair.  “Can we make this quick?” she asked.  “I have an appointment at nine.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Arcturus replied without looking at her.  “The Dog and Fiddle, that’s your regular Thursday haunt, isn’t it?”

 

She blinked at him.  How did he know that?   _Why_ did he know that?

 

He looked at her.  “What you choose to do with nameless, faceless amaurotics is your business, Paige,” he said.  “Though I do trust that you aren’t doing anything to jeopardize your health.  I would hate to have to intervene.”

 

“There is _no need_ for you to intervene,” she said tightly.

 

“Good,” he replied, turning his attention back to the book he held.

 

She sat there for several minutes, watching him.  Again, she was struck by just how large he was.  Rephaim dominated SciLo culture and yet, it was not common to see them in the flesh.  Watching them on ScionNet, it was easy to forget why they were called shining giants.  But watching Arcturus in the privacy of his own library, she understood.  

 

Arcturus’s dark, honey-colored skin nearly glowed in the flickering firelight with a metallic sheen.  He was tall, at least a foot taller than Paige, herself.  His features still reminded her of Situla, from his ash brown hair, coarse and in need of cutting, falling carelessly across his forehead, to his perfectly smooth skin and heavily hooded eyelids.  He was well formed, much more so than Gomeisa, who tended to look cadaverous and severe.  In Jaxon’s research into her keeper, he had stumbled upon an account from the early twentieth century wherein the author referred to Arcturus as _the most attractive of the Rephaim_.  While Paige had many grievances with her keeper, she couldn’t refute the truth of that assessment.

 

She frowned.  Nice view notwithstanding, this was boring.  “So, are we going to pleasantly converse, or am I expected to simply sit here and watch you read a book?”

 

He looked up at her.  “Are you capable of being pleasant this evening?”

 

She gave him a smile that was little more than a baring of teeth.  He sighed.

 

He set his book down, marking the place and leaned forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on the arms.  “What would you like to talk about, Paige?”

 

“Why did you choose me?”  It had been gnawing at her since his scathing setdown last night.  He apparently wasn’t a pervert, much to her surprise, and seemed to have no interest in her physically, whether child or adult.  He’d said he wasn’t a Sargas, which she took to mean that he had no intention of using her to start his own Mesarthim line of voyants.  It was a relief.  But it also raised many new questions about his motives.

 

He pursed his lips together and shook his head.  “I have my reasons.”

 

She scowled, leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.  “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

 

“This is true,” he said.  “I desire conversation, not a baring of my proverbial soul.”

 

She wondered if he did have a soul, or if he was a soul incarnate.  That was Jaxon’s theory.  “What do we have to gain from conversation?” she asked.

 

“The possibilities are endless,” he said, sounding weary.  She’d never considered that the Rephaim might have a sense of humor.  Or even a cursory understanding of it.  But Arcturus did seem to have a rather dry wit.  

 

“Perhaps,” he said, “we will come to some understanding of one another.”

 

She leaned back in her chair watching him.  “You want to understand me?” she scoffed.

 

“Of course I wish to understand you, Paige,” he said earnestly.  “I am your keeper, you are my pledge.  Soon you will be permanently bound to me.  It is true that time has considerably less meaning for me than it does for you, but a human lifetime can be substantial.  You are young.  We stand to spend a good many years in close company.  I would rather we come to know one another.”

 

“Why?” she asked, knowing she sounded petulant.

 

He looked at her for a long moment. “So I can know if you will be an ally,” he said harshly.  “If you are someone who can be trusted to witness the inner workings of my household and keep them in confidence.  Or if you are someone who will need to be sequestered.  For all our safety.”

 

She held his gaze, feeling cold all over.  It was a threat, and not even a veiled one.  She could learn to play nice and be allowed some measure of freedom.  Or she could continue to defy him and be locked away and forgotten.  He already proved he knew about the intimate details of her life, regardless of the fact that he had appeared uninterested in her.  And he had taken a great leap of faith in giving her the poppy.  True, if she got caught with it, he could simply deny any involvement.  It would be his word against hers and she knew he would win.  But he had literally handed her the power to destroy him - at least that’s what Jax thought.  As far as trust games went, he was far better at it than she.

 

She looked into the fire and then back at him.  “What am I supposed to call you?”  She referred to him as Arcturus when speaking about him, but she had never actually addressed him personally.

 

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, studying her.  “Warden,” he said.  “You may call me by my ceremonial title.”

 

She nodded, but held his gaze.  “There are other Wardens, though, correct?” she asked.  “One for each major Rephaite line?”

 

His lips gave the barest hint of a smile and if she didn’t know better, she might think he was the tiniest bit impressed with her knowledge.  “Yes,” he said, “that is true.  However, I am the only Rephaite on this side of the veil who currently holds that title, so it will do.”

 

They stared at each other in silence for a long time.  Paige finally had to look away.  He didn’t blink.  It was unnerving.  She would never win a staring match with him.

 

“It is almost nine o’clock,” he said.  “I believe you mentioned a prior engagement.”

 

She looked at him and then nodded, rising to her feet.

 

“Good evening, Paige,” he said.

 

“Good evening,” she replied.  “Warden.”

 

* * *

Nick picked her up in his piece of shit car, handing her a cup of coffee as she pulled on her seatbelt.  It was pouring rain and she was late for work.  She had no idea what happened to her mobile.  She’d had to use the phone behind the bar at the Dog and Fiddle to call Nick for a ride.  Taking a sip of the coffee, she prayed it would do something for her blinding headache.

 

“Paige, you can’t go to work like this,” Nick said.

 

“It’ll be fine.”

 

“No,” Nick said firmly, “it will not be fine.  You look like hell and you smell like a pub.  Maybe you should start taking them back to your place.”

 

Paige gave him the finger and rolled in her seat, pressing her forehead against the cold window glass.  She knew what it looked like, her typical extracurricular activities.  But looks could be deceiving.  After she’d left Warden’s last night, she’d gone to the Dog and Fiddle as usual.  But contrary to her usual Thursday night, she didn’t pick up any company.  She was too paranoid that Warden had someone watching her.  The last thing she wanted was for him to get another embarrassing report he could discuss with her later.  She’d have to learn to be more discrete.  Instead, she’d settled for getting blind drunk and passing out in the back room, alone.

 

Despite her protests, Nick drove her to her flat rather than to work.  He then helped her inside and called Jaxon, who would cover for her.  

 

Paige showered and then collapsed, face-down, onto her bed.  The flat was tiny, a studio with a miniscule bathroom and kitchen.  Nick sat on the edge of her bed.  “Sotnos, are you okay?”

 

“Fine,” she said, “just hung over.”

 

He sighed, but she didn’t have the energy to roll over and look at him.  

 

“How did your pleasant conversation go last night?” he asked.

 

She forced herself onto her side, peering at him through one slitted eye.  “Didn’t get off to a great start,” she admitted.  “But it ended .. okay.”

 

“Do you really mean that?” he asked.

 

She rolled all the way onto her back and looked at him.  “Nick, even if it was horrible, there isn’t a damn thing you could do about it,” she said flatly.  She flinched as his face fell.  She reached out, covering his hand with her own.  “But it, really, it was okay.  I think maybe one day we will be able to speak to each other without open hostilities.”

 

Nick frowned down at her.

 

She reached up and slapped him none too gently on the side of the face.  “I’ll be fine,” she said.  “I promise.”

  
END CHAPTER


	5. Chapter 5

Paige rang the bell, but there was no answer.  She peered in one of the windows.  The lights were on, but she could see no one inside.  She couldn’t access the library windows without scaling the wall, which she would rather not do.  Had Warden forgotten about their meeting?  She put her hand on the door and tried the knob.  It was unlocked.  One day, she’d have to live here, right?  It wasn’t exactly housebreaking.

 

She entered Warden’s residence, closing the door behind herself.  “Michael?” she called.  There was no answer.  “Warden?”  Still nothing.  She reached out in the aether and didn’t feel any presence inside the home.

 

She should leave.  It was Friday night.  She could think of ten things she’d rather be doing tonight.  But ... Oh, the temptation was immense.  This was Warden’s house.  And he wasn’t home.  After all the sneaky little secrets he knew about her, she was dying to find out some things about him.  There was little she knew about him beyond what could be gleaned by searching ScionNet and even that was scant.

 

She stood in the foyer for a long moment, looking around, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.  Her initial assessment of Warden’s home still held.  It was oddly modern.  The color palette for the home tended toward grayscale.  With the exception of the library, the furniture was very minimally designed, with none of the extravagant flourishes typical for SciLo.  The rare pieces of art on the walls were abstract, geometric designs.  She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

 

She crept down the hallway to the library and peered inside.  The room was dark and empty.  She shivered.  It seemed like a different place without Warden and the firelight.  The foyer, the hallway and the library were the extent of what she’d seen of his home.  She had no idea what was behind other doors.  

 

She ventured farther down the hallway and opened the first door she found.  Behind it was a dark staircase.  She immediately noticed the trail of faintly luminescent drops on the tread.  She reached out and touched her finger to the liquid.  The second she touched it, she knew what it was, but she brought it to her face and sniffed at it for confirmation.  It immediately set her senses on edge, making her teeth ache.  It was ectoplasm, Reph blood.  And she knew, without understanding how she knew, that it was Warden’s blood.  She pulled a torch out of her bag, clicking it on.  “Warden?” she called again.

 

There was no answer, but clearly he’d been this way recently.  The ectoplasm hadn’t had time to dry.  Warden was wounded, possibly somewhere in the house, which didn’t bode well considering she couldn’t sense him in the aether.  She took a moment to wonder what could wound a Reph, unless of course Warden was entertaining more biting-prone eight year olds, though that wasn’t likely.  She crept up the stairs, following the trail of ectoplasm droplets.

 

There were more droplets on the second floor landing.  She followed the trail down the dark hall and into a bedroom, presumably Warden’s, since he was collapsed, face-down, on the floor inside.  Paige hurried to his side, crouching down next to him.  “Warden?”

 

He didn’t respond.  Now that she was so close, she could feel him in the aether, but he was very weak.  She reached out, shaking his shoulder.  “Warden?”  

 

He groaned and she pulled her hand back.  It was coated in ectoplasm.  He was cold.  Like, dead body cold.  She had physically made contact with a Reph twice in her life, once when Situla Mesarthim grabbed her chin in a warehouse outside Dublin and once in a hospital south of London when she bit Warden.  Both of those times, she was shocked by how hot their skin was.  But Warden’s flesh was not hot.  It was like ice.  He was dying.

 

Grunting with effort, Paige managed to roll him onto his back.  His features were slack and he was so cold.  There was a gaping wound on his shoulder, his shirt and the flesh beneath both torn.  Ectoplasm slowly dribbled from the wound.

 

What if he died?  She could be free.  Surely the claim would be negated upon his death.  But looking down at him, Paige didn’t feel excited by the prospect.  She felt terrified.  As much as she despised his claim, Warden was a known quantity.  She was very accustomed to his specter lurking in the background of her life.  The thought of him ceasing to exist left her feeling oddly blank.

 

“Warden?” she called, slapping his cheek.  He didn’t respond.  She looked at his shoulder again.  It was an Emite bite, it had to be.  What the hell was _he_ doing fighting the Emim?  That was a job for the Red Guard, not for Rephs.  Paige wracked her brain, trying to remember the treatment for Emite bites.  She was pretty sure it was just salt and rest, but there had to be more to it than that if Warden was passed out alone, about to die from his injuries.

 

“I’ll be back,” she told him, though she knew he couldn’t hear her.  She ran back the way she came, flipping on lights as she went.  No point in being sneaky now.  She took the stairs two at a time and started throwing open doors once she got to the first floor.  She quickly found the ultra-modern kitchen and rooted around in cupboards for the supplies she needed.  She took a bowl, towels, several bottles of water and a box of salt with her, running back up the stairs.

 

He hadn’t moved since she left.  She flipped on the overhead light and frowned.  He looked dead.  She knelt next to him, quickly mixing the salt and water together in the bowl.  She soaked one of the towels in the solution and then pressed it against his shoulder, hard.  He groaned, tossing his head restlessly.  Well, at least he wasn’t dead, despite his appearance.

 

The wound was disgusting.  His usually perfect, glossy skin was black.  The wound itself was festering and necrotic and the coldness in him seemed to radiate out from the bite.  It made her hands ache to hold the wet towel against the wound.  She went through a mound of towels trying to clean the wound.  She was soaked from chest to knee by the time there was the slightest bit of improvement.  But the saltwater wasn’t the cure she needed.

 

Frantic and frustrated, she pulled her mobile out of her bag and called Nick.  She put him on speaker as she continued to dab at the wound.  Luckily, he picked up on the second ring.

 

“Emite bites?” he said as she finished her rambling explanation.  “Salt and water.  Bind the wound.”

 

“Yeah, okay, salt and water for humans, but what if the person who got bit wasn’t strictly human?” she said lamely.  Warden definitely wasn’t improving.

 

“Not strictly human,” Nick repeated in a harsh whisper.  “Fucking hell, Paige, do you mean a _Reph_?”

 

“Maybe,” Paige replied.

 

Nick cursed in swedish.  “Blood,” he said flatly.  “About a pint.”

 

Paige stared dumbly at the phone.  “Like, human blood?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” Nick said.  “Fresh.  Human.”  He sighed.  “Just tell me where you are.”

 

“No, I’m fine,” Paige immediately replied.  “I’ve got it.  Thanks, that’s all I needed to know.”  She ended the call.  Nick immediately called back and she let it roll to voicemail.   _Fuck_.  

 

She stared at Warden.  He looked even deader than he had a few minutes ago.  And the ectoplasm seeping from the wound was slowing.  He was so cold.

 

Cursing under her breath, she pulled her knife out of her bag.  “This is all because I bit you that one time, isn’t it you smug bastard?”  

 

She balled her left hand into a fist several times, looking at it.  God _damn_ Warden.  Before she could think better of it, she slashed across her wrist, watching as blood immediately welled in the cut.  She leaned over him, tilting his head back, opening his mouth.  She watched as her blood dribbled down her wrist and into his mouth.  She pumped her fist again when the flow decreased.

 

It felt like hours that she sat there, waiting for some kind of response.  Then she saw his throat work, his eyes move behind his eyelids.  She was taken off guard, gasping, when his hand came up and pressed her wrist to his mouth, his lips sealing over the cut.  She could feel the firm suction as he pulled at her wrist, his tongue sliding against the cut.  She concentrated on not retching.  If he lived through this, they were going to have some serious discussions about boundaries.

 

After what felt like an eternity, he opened his eyes and looked up at her, her wrist still firmly pressed to his mouth.

 

“You _owe_ me,” she said grimly, glaring at him.  “A lot.”

 

* * *

 

Downstairs, a door slammed and someone ran up the stairs.  Paige looked up to see Michael standing in the doorway with a vacutainer clutched in his hand.  “Too late,” Paige said wryly as Michael simply stood there, taking in the scene.

 

Warden was still lying on the floor, though his shoulder was much improved.  As Michael stood there, Warden released Paige’s wrist, which she immediately cradled to her chest.  She pushed herself to her feet, fully intending to give Warden a piece of her mind, but she swayed and would have fallen.

 

Warden was there, scooping her into his apparently healed arms.  Paige wanted to tell him to fuck off, but her mouth wasn’t precisely working at the moment.  He lay her gently on his bed and then turned to Michael.  “Orange juice,” he said.  “Please.”  He took one of the clean towels and tore it into strips, using it to bind her cut.

 

Michael nodded and left.  Paige lay there, taking in her surroundings.  Warden’s room reminded her of the library, Victorian, ornate.  The four poster bed was hung with heavy red velvet drapes.  There was another fireplace and a chair.  She watched as Warden picked up the remnants of her nursing supplies and went into the attached bathroom.  She could hear water running.  When he came back out, he was bare to the waist.  His shoulder was almost completely healed.   _Asshole_.

 

She watched as he pulled a clean shirt out of an armoire, quickly buttoning it.  He turned back to her and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

 

“I must confess I forgot about our appointment.”

 

“Yeah,” Paige said, “you seemed a little preoccupied with dying.”

 

He frowned down at her.  “It should go without saying, that what you witnessed here tonight cannot leave this room.”

 

“Well that’s too bad,” she said, “because I had to call Nick to find out what I needed to do to keep you alive.”

 

Warden frowned, looking rather like a wet cat.  “Can this Nick be trusted?”

 

“He’s my best friend,” Paige said firmly.

 

“That does not answer my question,” he replied darkly.

 

“Yes it does,” Paige bit back.  “Now you’re just being an ungrateful prick.”  She glared at him.  “Hand me my phone.  I need to call him and let him know that my DIY blood transfusion didn’t end tragically.”  Which, if Paige was being honest with herself, was a valid concern.  She was typically shite at any kind of nursing.

 

Warden picked up the phone and stared at it and Paige knew he did not want to hand it to her, but he finally did.  She dialed with her uninjured hand.

 

Nick immediately let loose with a rush of words, but Paige cut him off.  “I’m fine,” she said.  “Everybody’s fine.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  She hung up again before he had any opportunity to ask questions.

 

“He will not come looking for you?”

 

Paige closed her eyes, burrowing into the pillow.  “I didn’t tell him where you live.”

 

Warden sighed and covered her with a blanket before resuming his seat on the edge of the bed.  Some minutes later, Michael returned with a glass of orange juice.  Paige propped herself up and drank it.  She still felt all wobbly and she sank back into the mattress.

 

“Sleep, dreamer,” Warden said, “I will make certain no harm comes to you.”

 

“Great,” Paige replied without opening her eyes, “who is going to keep an eye out for you?”

 

She could have sworn she heard him chuckle.

 

END CHAPTER


	6. Chapter 6

Paige opened one eye and peered at her surroundings.  She was hardly unaccustomed to waking up in strange places, but even she was forced to do a double take as she looked at the heavy velvet drapes in the dim light.  Where the hell was she?  She propped herself up on one elbow and saw Warden sitting in the chair by the fire.   _Oh yeah_.

 

He set down his goblet and looked at her.  “It is late,” he said.  “Or early, depending on your perspective.  You have been asleep for several hours.”

 

She rubbed her eyes and ran her tongue over her teeth.  They felt fuzzy.  The rest of her didn’t feel much better.  She had a headache and her overall distaste for what had transpired earlier left her feeling dirty.

 

“You are welcome to use the bathroom to freshen up if you wish,” he said.

 

Paige didn’t reply, but she sat up, swinging her feet over the side of the bed.  She was dressed only in a camisole and underwear.  

 

“Your clothes were soaking wet,” Warden said.  “Michael laundered them.  They are at the foot of the bed.”

 

She looked at the foot of the bed, at the neat little pile of clothes.  She resolutely avoided thinking about how and who removed the clothes.  Mindful of her sore wrist, she tugged the sheet loose from the mattress, wrapping it around herself like a toga.  She gathered up her clothes and headed for the bathroom.

 

She closed and locked the door, flipping on the light.  The bathroom was as modern as the kitchen, all dark slate gray tile and minimalist fixtures.  The faucet looked like a sculpture.  She shook her head.  Warden’s home was having an identity crisis.  It couldn’t figure out if it belonged in 1860 or 2060.  Though Paige had to admit that if a home was going to vacillate between the two periods, the plumbing was really where you wanted to go modern.

 

Having recently saved Warden’s life, Paige had no compunction about rooting around in his medicine cabinet.  She found a bottle of mouthwash, staring at it.  For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine Warden using mouthwash, but whatever.  She swished and spit.  Her teeth felt marginally less gross.  She also found a box of adhesive bandages, covered in a layer of dust.  She knew they had to be older than she was, but she opened one and the glue was still tacky.  It would do.  She set it aside until after her shower.

 

The shower was a work of modern art, all impeccably laid gray tile, glass and chrome.  There was a giant rainhead shower fixture.  It reminded her of a fancy resort her father had taken her to once when she was fourteen, for a SciSORS convention he had to attend in Geneva.

 

Paige took her time in the shower, standing there and letting the water sluice over her.  The water pressure was so much better than what she had in her crappy little flat.  She studied Warden’s toiletries, once again shocked by the idea of him actually using toiletries.  When she thought about it, she guessed it made sense.  Rephs were of the veil, but they weren’t magically dirt and grime repellent, as far as she knew.  If they wanted clean hair, they probably needed to wash it.  It was a nice brand of shampoo, but nothing she hadn’t seen before.  You could pick it up in any high street store.  She assumed Michael must be the one who bought it.  She could not, not matter how hard she tried, imagine Warden shopping for shampoo.

 

Paige dried herself off with a towel.  It was really nice, soft and very thick, big enough to completely wrap herself up in.  She had to admit that spending quality time in Warden’s bathroom tended to remove some of the Rephaite mystique.  He liked soft towels, mint mouthwash and sandalwood scented shampoo.  Creature comforts.  Everyone had them, apparently even the Rephaim.  It was an odd discovery.

 

Finally dressed again, her wrist bandaged, Paige exited the bathroom.  Warden was where she had left him, sitting before the fire, wine and book in hand.  Paige watched him, aware of her wet hair dampening the back of her shirt.  Her hair was going to get really interesting in about an hour when it started to dry.  She wished she had an extra hairpins with her.

 

Warden set down the book and leaned forward in his chair, watching her, his goblet of wine trapped between the tips of his fingers.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.  “For your assistance.”

 

She nodded.  She still wasn’t sure why she’d gone to the lengths she did to save him.  Maybe if she’d waited, Michael would have gotten there in time.   _Maybe_.  Then again, maybe she and Michael would be at the mercy of new Reph keepers.  That wasn’t a pleasant thought.

 

“How is your wrist?” he asked.

 

Instinctively, she covered her wrist with her other hand.  “It’s fine,” she said.  And it was.  She doubted it would scar.  It seemed incongruous after all the drama of the evening that there was nothing to show for it except for a couple of bandages.  Warden looked fully recovered and Paige would need anti-bacterial ointment for a day or two.

 

“I know we discussed this earlier,” Warden said, “but I must stress that it is vitally important that what happened here tonight does not go beyond those who already know.”

 

Paige took several steps closer to him, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked down at his seated form.  “Why?”

 

He looked away, setting down the goblet of wine.  “Like you,” he said, “I am not always free to do what I choose.”

 

She snorted.  “What? Someone _owns_ you too?”

 

He looked at her, unblinking.  “In a manner of speaking, yes.  And she would be most displeased to learn what happened here tonight.”

 

There was something in his tone that sent chills down Paige’s spine.  Rephs didn’t hunt the Emim.  That was always a task left to the Red Guard.  But as far as she knew, they weren’t forbidden from it.  But the way Warden was talking, it sounded like someone had declared the Emim off limits _for him_.  

 

Who or what had the power to command Arcturus Mesarthim?  “ _She?_ ” Paige asked, unsure she wanted the answer.

 

Warden sat back in his chair, taking a deep breath as he studied Paige.  “Nashira Sargas,” he finally said.

 

Paige could feel her heart pounding in her chest.   _Nashira Sargas_.  Nashira Sargas commanded him?  Nashira Sargas was the name voyant parents whispered to their disobedient children to keep them in line.  She was power, brutality and horror all wrapped up in one aesthetically perfect form.  Gomeisa Sargas was the public face of the Rephaim, but everyone knew Nashira was the real power behind the Sargas dynasty.  Paige had always known Warden was allied with Gomeisa and Kraz.  However, she had never considered that he might have a relationship to Nashira, who, as far as Paige knew, spent most of her time outside of London.

 

Paige opened her mouth to speak, but it took several tries before she could form the words.  “Why would Nashira Sargas care?”

 

“Because I am her consort,” Warden replied.

 

Paige blinked.  Consort.  Betrothed.  Fiance.  Warden was the blood-consort of the Sargas sovereign?  What the fuck?  She shook her head.  “How is that possible?” she demanded.  Surely if that were true Jaxon’s research would have turned up at least a hint of it.

 

Warden watched her.  “Some knowledge is for the Rephaim alone,” he said.  “And therefore, closely guarded.”

 

Paige was going to need another shower.  Or a coffin.  If there was even enough left to bury once Nashira was done with her.  Paige had been asleep in the bed of Nashira Sargas’s consort.  As far as bad ideas went, that had to rank up there with a wintertime invasion of Russia.

 

“Paige, I do not tell you this to upset you,” he said.

 

“Upset me?” she said, her voice edged with hysteria.  “I know what Nashira Sargas does to people like me.  I have no intention of ending up with my face cast in a death mask for her wall.  You don’t think you could have mentioned sometime in the last decade that she’s your betrothed?”  Paige was shaking.

 

“You are my pledge,” Warden said calmly.  “Nashira is aware of this fact.  Your presence in my life and in my home is not unexpected.”

 

“And in your _bed_?” Paige demanded.

 

He frowned.   _Exactly_.  Paige knew without asking that Nashira Sargas did not share.

 

“You _ass_ ,” Paige swore, wishing like hell she knew some curse words in gloss.  Something really foul.  About his mother.  If he had one.  He probably didn't.  He'd probably been hatched somewhere.  “After everything I did for you tonight, this is how you repay me?  By putting me in a position to catch Nashira Sargas’s attention?”

 

He watched her for a long moment.  “You have already captured Nashira’s attention.  That is what I am trying to tell you.”

 

“Fuck you!” Paige cursed, adrenalin coursing through her veins.  She didn’t wait for a reply, she turned and ran.  Warden didn’t follow, but Paige didn’t stop running until she was four blocks from his residence, and heavily winded.  She left her bag in his room.   _Fuck_.

 

She stood there under a street lamp, staring at nothing.  She didn’t have any money or her mobile.  She had no keys, no datapad.  She groaned.

 

She heard steps approaching and turned, watching Michael jog up to her.  He handed Paige her bag and then turned back the way he came.  She stared at the bag.  Fuck.

 

* * *

Soothsayers often said Nick reminded them of snow.  But looking at his face, Paige wondered what was paler than snow.  She felt bad, seeing the anguish on his features.  It mirrored what she felt inside, the acidic mixture of terror, anger and helplessness.  She knew that Warden would not be happy she was telling Nick about Nashira, but Warden could go fuck himself.  Paige couldn’t imagine trying to process something of this magnitude without Nick.

 

“Nashira Sargas,” he said quietly.

 

Paige nodded, flopping back on her bed.  She’d called Nick on her way home and he’d met her at her flat with some much needed coffee.  As it turned out, once she started recounting the events of her evening, neither of them had touched the coffee.  It was stone cold.

 

“Sotnos,” Nick said, grasping her hand.  He collapsed onto the bed next to her and they both stared blindly up at her cracked plaster ceiling.  “What does that even mean that you’ve attracted Nashira’s attention?”

 

“I don’t know,” Paige said.  “Nothing good.  It can’t possibly mean anything good.”  She felt trapped in a way she had never experienced.  More trapped than when Warden claimed her.  More trapped than when her father refused to pay for her flat when she told him she wasn’t attending USL.  Nashira Sargas’s reach transcended borders.  It transcended worlds.  Where could Paige possibly hope to hide from her, especially considering she was bound to Nashira’s consort?

 

“You’ve got to tell Jaxon.”

 

Paige turned her head and looked at him.  “I can’t tell Jaxon,” she said.  “He still doesn’t know I’ve seen Warden.”  And while that wasn’t really Jaxon’s business, she knew he wouldn’t see it that way.  And she didn’t want to hear about it.  

 

She glanced at Nick’s puzzled expression.  “Arcturus”, she clarified.  “Ceremonial title.”  She sighed.  “Besides, what could Jax do about it?  There’s nothing he can do.  Not him, not anyone in the resistance.  This isn’t a Reph we’re talking about.  It’s Nashira fucking Sargas.”

 

“The resistance could get you out of the country,” Nick said.

 

“To where?” Paige asked glumly.  “Scion controls half of Europe and has outposts in a dozen other countries.  They have extradition treaties with most of the free world.  Where could I run, even if I could manage to get out of England?”

 

“You’d rather just sit here and wait for Nashira to do something?” Nick demanded.

 

Paige groaned, curling into a fetal ball.  Of course she wanted to run.  Her fight or flight reflex had been in high gear for the last four hours.  But running would most likely be a waste of time and precious resources.

 

“Ognena Maria has connections in Eastern Europe,” Nick said.  “She can get you out.  It won’t be easy, but it’s a hell of a lot better than sitting here waiting.”

 

She shook her head.  Warden hadn’t been forced into telling Paige about Nashira last night.  He _chose_ to tell Paige.  She felt like that meant something.  She just wasn’t sure what.  And it was Warden to whom Paige was bound, not Nashira.  Warden had been Paige’s keeper for the last decade and she had never once seen Nashira.  Perhaps it wasn’t as dire as it seemed.  “You know, maybe this is a good thing,” Paige said dully.  “Maybe this is the break the resistance has been waiting for.”

 

“How?” Nick asked incredulously.

 

“We’ve always know that we have to strike at the Archon.  And for that, we need access.  We’ve been looking for a way to get close to the Sargas for years.  Maybe this is our chance.  My keeper is the blood-consort.  I don’t imagine it’s possible to get much more access than that.”

 

Nick looked at her and Paige knew he wanted to argue, but she had a point.  The resistance had some powerful voyants, from old English lineages.  But almost none of them were bound to Rephs.  Paige was the only member of the resistance bound to a Rephaite in the Sargas inner circle.  She’d always known it was one of the primary reasons Jaxon had put so much effort into recruiting her.  That, and her gift.  Though apparently Jaxon wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

 

“She’s going to kill me,” Paige said quietly.  “That’s what Nashira Sargas does to powerful voyants.  She’s going to murder me and bind me to her forever.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Nick said, holding her hand tighter.

 

“Yes, I do,” Paige said.  “You know it too.”

 

* * *

Paige didn’t return to Warden’s residence that night, or the next night.  The cut on the inside of her left wrist slowly started to heal.  Nick was still upset, and for that, Paige felt bad.  But she just couldn’t immerse herself in fruitless worrying about Nashira.  She couldn’t live like that.

 

Much to Nick’s irritation, Paige met up with Liss in a flash house in one of the sketchier parts of the citadel.  Most voyants tended to have money and power, but not all.  Some voyants chose to live outside of Scion’s system, to keep their gifts all to themselves, rather than tithing as required.  It created its own sort of shadow culture.

 

The flash house was a mixed population of voyants and amaurotics.  There weren’t many places in the citadel where the two populations could mix so openly, but even here, it was clear that the amaurotics were at the bottom of the social ladder.

 

The flash house didn’t serve floxy, only alcohol, in solidarity with the voyant slumlords who refused to abide by Scion’s restrictions.  Paige wanted to get blind drunk and find some amaurotic company, but she settled for nursing a gin and tonic.  

 

Liss looked awful, as usual.  Paige had been shocked that Liss was able to get away.  Apparently Gomeisa was otherwise occupied with running the country and too busy to take out his frustrations on Liss.  There was a particularly nasty bruise along the left side of Liss’s jaw.  It appeared to be several days old.  Paige looked at it and frowned.  Liss ducked her head.  “He didn’t like the deck.”

 

“Blaming the messenger,” Paige said sourly.

 

“Always,” Liss replied, finishing the last of her glass of wine in a single swallow.  Paige knew that Gomeisa would be irate if he found out Liss had been poisoning herself with alcohol.  But she also understood Liss’s need to defy him, no matter how self-destructive it was.

 

“He hits you,” Paige said, unable to look at Liss.  “Doe he ever do ... other things?”

 

“What?” Liss said, snorting, signally the bartender for another glass.  “Like shag me?”

 

Paige nodded, meeting Liss’s gaze.

 

“No,” she said.  “Thank the aether.  He settles for beating the shit out of me and feeding on my gift.  I don’t think he has much interest in pursuits of the flesh.  And he sure as hell doesn’t want any offspring from me.”

 

Paige’s brow furrowed as she looked at Liss.  For all of Paige’s first hand knowledge of debauchery, she felt incredibly naive.  She’d assumed that the Rephaim wanted offspring, as a way to amass more power, especially the Sargas.  But Warden had disabused her of that notion, and now Liss as well.

 

“Why not?” Paige asked.

 

Liss took a drink of her new glass of wine.  “He already has one, for starters,” Liss said.  “And while the Sargas-kin do help him amass power, give him a _deeper well_ from which to draw, it also means he has to share that power.  Gomeisa doesn’t like to share anything.”

 

That, Paige had no trouble believing.  She took another sip of her drink.  “Does Gomeisa ever mention any of the other Sargas?”

 

Liss shrugged.  “Not really.  Thuban and Kraz are at the residence infrequently.  I don’t know that Gomeisa has much use for them.”

 

“And for the other blood-sovereign?”

 

Liss arched an eyebrow.  “Nashira?” she asked.  “He doesn’t say much anything about her in front of me, but he’s careful around her.  Far more careful than he is with Thuban or Kraz.”

 

“Do you think he’s scared of her?” Paige asked.

 

Liss frowned.  “I’m not sure scared is the right word.  Respectful.  They are both Sargas, so they have a vested interest in each other’s survival.  He occasionally defers to her.  She’s the only Rephaite I’ve ever seen him defer to.”

 

Paige stared into her drink.  What the fuck was she going to do?  If even Gomeisa was careful around Nashira, what chance did Paige have?  On second thought, getting really drunk sounded like a great idea.  She tossed back the rest of her gin and tonic in a single gulp and signaled for the bartender.

  
END CHAPTER

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea if the Rephaim of Samantha Shannon's novels can actually physically leave England or not. Here, i have Situla in Ireland. If it turns out they can't leave England, apologies retrospectively.


End file.
